


getting to know you

by merrywil



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 08:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrywil/pseuds/merrywil
Summary: Sometime between the end of DS and IW, Wong and Stephen went from colleagues to friends (and, I kinda like to imagine, roommates).  Colleagues say hello at work.  Friends say “our favorite flavor” when they talk about sharing ice cream with you, or buy you a sandwich at the corner deli when you run out of cash.  A year in the life of two people becoming friends.





	getting to know you

Wong didn’t think Strange was a bad housemate.  Bad would imply that there was something to actively dislike about the man.  Which would imply that they actually interacted. And that was barely the case.

Strange had been an...annoying, if scholastically gifted, student in his time at Kamar-Taj.  Wong still hadn’t forgiven him for the “borrowing” of his beloved tomes. But although he found the man’s lack of forethought irksome, Wong liked to think of himself as a practical person.  There was no denying that Strange’s ingenuity had saved them from Kaecilius, and Wong had to appreciate his desire for knowledge.

So when the other masters had decided to assign Wong to the New York Sanctum, partly to fill a rather obvious gap in personnel and partly to keep an eye on things, Wong figured he would make the best of it.  After all, the Sanctum was filled with enough books and relics and gateways to keep the most curious occupied for decades. And Strange couldn’t be that aggravating, could he?

Staring at the other man, who was currently doing his best impression of an immovable object (arms crossed, mouth drawn into a frown, relic flaring behind him), Wong was seriously contemplating the idea of giving up his calling, moving to the Caribbean, and setting up an ice cream stand on the beach.  Or at least telling the other masters to find a different glorified babysitter.

“Strange.  You lived at Kamar-Taj for over a year.  You know it is traditional to take at least one meal of the day together.  It is a valuable opportunity for sharing knowledge and building bonds with others.”

Wong thought it fortunate that his housemate had not developed a way of causing spontaneous magical combustion as a result of glaring.

“And I’m not in kindergarten, Wong.  Thanks, but no thanks. If there’s anything we need to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

Wong huffed.  Now his own arms were crossed; this was going well.

“In fact, I do not, at least until you manage to borrow trouble.  Which reminds me, the gateway on the west end of the third floor hallway is not to be trifled with, unless you want to spend the rest of your mortal life as a potted plant.  Now, the food is ready, you have not eaten, and you can spare twenty minutes to update me on your progress this week.”

Strange was not a gracious loser, but Wong was very persistent.  After all, even a trickle of water could wear away a stone. “Fine.  Twenty minutes. And...thank you for cooking.”

“You are welcome.  You can also repay me by washing the dishes.”

“Can I change my mind about eating?”

“No.”

\---

To put it mildly, Wong had not had a good day.  The meeting at Kamar-Taj had lasted all afternoon, and they had reached a consensus on exactly none of the issues under discussion.  He had wanted to finish cataloguing a newly rediscovered collection from Brazil, and now he would have to wait until tomorrow. Unless someone summoned a horde of flesh eating demons before then, which the way his day was going was a distinct possibility.

It was raining when he returned to New York, and already dark.  The stormy sky outside seemed to magnify his poor mood, and he was half tempted to snag a cup of tea from the kitchen and just head to bed.

What he had not expected to find in the kitchen was Strange (although who was he kidding, his housemate had a habit of never being where one would expect).  The other man was wearing a worn sweater, cuffs falling halfway over his hands and across the pages of the book he was holding. The Cloak of Levitation was curled atop one of the timeworn wooden chairs, for all the world like a sleeping red cat.

Strange glanced up.  Then he cocked an eyebrow, and gave Wong a more thorough once over.  Suddenly nodding, he stood and crossed to the freezer.

“Tough day, huh?  You missed dinner.”  Closing the freezer, he began to rummage in the drawer holding an ill-matching assortment of handed-down cutlery.

Wong couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped as he settled in a chair across from Strange’s book.  He would get up and get his tea. In a minute.

Something thumped onto the table in front of him, and then Strange’s hand was in front of his face.  Wong squinted.

“Why are you waving a spoon at me?”

“It’s for the ice cream, silly.  Since you had a lousy day, you get to pick the flavor.  Those are the rules.”

Wong decided to play along.  “And whose rules are those?”

“Mine.  Well, actually, Christine’s.”  Wong watched a bittersweet smile tug at Strange’s lips, before it was gone a moment later.  “Whenever we had a bad day at the hospital, she’d break out the Ben-and-Jerry’s. The rules are that whoever had the worst day gets to pick their flavor first, and no containers are left to suffer un-emptied.  So, are you game? You can even tell me what stupidity the other masters are up to, if you want.”

The spoon was still loosely grasped in Strange’s ( _no, Stephen’s_ ) hand, and he was watching Wong expectantly.  Wong decided that he might wait on that tea, after all.

“I am...game.  Pass me the Phish Food.”

Wong was feeling charitable enough not to acknowledge Stephen’s snigger.

\--

“Wong, hurry up!  If I don’t get out of this place soon, I’m going to turn into a relic.”

“I am coming.  Did you lock the gateway to the ocean dimension?”

“Yes!”

“Good.  And replace the book on animating inanimate objects?  If we come back and it’s destroyed the library again, you’re cleaning it up.”

“Yes, the book is locked up, too.  Now come on!”

Wong had to admit, it felt good to feel the afternoon sun on his face as he stepped out into the street.  For a late spring day in New York City, it was a remarkably beautiful one. The occasional tree overshadowed the sidewalk with gently waving leaves and white or pink blossoms.  The sky between the buildings was a brilliant blue, with a few clouds scattered high overhead.

Around them, people bustled along the sidewalks.  It wasn’t a particularly busy time of day, the hours between lunchtime and the end of work or school for most people.  They moved in companionable silence.

The deli was a brisk four block walk to the east.  There were other corner stores of course, but this was the best.  The bell over the door jingled quietly as they entered, and the man behind the counter smiled at them.  They had not been in New York long yet, but already it seemed they were recognized as regulars.

Stephen even asked for his “usual,” and the man just smiled again and nodded.  Wong paid for his sandwich, then stepped aside for his companion to do the same.  And froze at what happened next.

The young woman assisting the man had taken Stephen’s ten dollar bill, and then reached out to return his change, bills and coins cradled in her hand.  Stephen, a rueful grimace on his face, had silently and slightly raised his faintly tremoring hands, the fingers of both slightly curled inwards as was their wont.

The man at the counter gently touched his younger coworker’s arm, and pointed from the change to the bag in which he had placed Stephen’s sandwich.  A faint blush staining her cheeks, the young woman complied, her eyes carefully averted from Stephen.

With a soft “thank you” and a nod, Stephen took the bag from the man, who wished them a good day as though nothing had happened.

As they walked out, Wong glanced sideways at the other man.  Stephen’s lips were twisted in a wry smile.

“Little awkward, isn’t it?  Usually Stewart knows what to do, but the kid is new.  Humility is next to godliness, isn’t that what they say?”

Wong ignored the deliberate misquote.  He held Stephen’s gaze for a moment, for once deadly serious.

“Strange.  I am only going to say this once, so don’t let it go to your head.  You are a great man, regardless of what your hands can and cannot do.  Now, hurry up; I still don’t trust that you locked that door correctly.”

Stephen kept his hands in his pockets, Wong noticed, but he walked back to the Sanctum with his head high.

\--

Learning to accept defeat was an important part of spiritual growth.  Sometimes the Universe (fine, multiverse) dealt unavoidable hardship, and one had to bow to fate and carry on.  Wong was a strong enough person to accept that.

And this...creature had him well and truly defeated.  He had tried scolding, he had tried luring, and he had tried ignoring.  But the thrice-cursed cat would not come out from under the cabinet.

Which is why Stephen found him on his hands and knees in the foyer, peering moodily at a pair of yellow-green eyes and nursing a rather painful scratch to his hand.

“Uh, Wong?  Did you lose something under there?”

“Only my sanity, if this continues much longer.”  Wong pushed himself off the floor, ruefully eyeing his injury.  “Master Davies asked me to watch his cat for the week.”

“Were you just supposed to watch it, or were you actually supposed to feed it and return it to him in one piece?  Because that might be difficult if it won’t come out.”

“Very funny.  No, it will not come out.  It made that quite clear.”

Stephen hummed thoughtfully, eyes trained on the hidey hole under the cabinet.  “That’s a nasty scratch, by the way. You should disinfect it; bartonellosis is no joking matter.  You know, he’s just scared. He, or she?”

Wong snorted.  “He. Greymalkin.  I think Davies calls him Grim.”

Stephen hummed again.  He glanced towards the bowls of kibble and water that Wong had set to one side of the cabinet, and then with a decisive nod moved along the wall on the opposite side.  Placing his back against the ancient wood about ten feet away, he slid down to sit cross legged on the floor. Wong squinted suspiciously as he drew a small portal in the air, and reached through to snag a heavy book.

“Not one of yours, don’t worry.”  Stephen grinned. “Did you know, that cats are unlike most domestic species in that they are descended from a relatively asocial wild ancestor?  The African wildcat is a solitary hunter of small prey, and comes together with other members of its species only to mate.”

“Although that is interesting, how is it going to help remove *this* wild cat from under our cabinet?”

Stephen had already buried his nose in his book, the large tome balanced on his knees.

“Well, remove isn’t quite the right word.  We had...a number of animals as kids. Actually, at one point, I’d thought about becoming a veterinarian when I grew up.  Guess a lot of kids do.” Stephen’s eyes looked past his book, unfocused on at least his present reality. “The barn cats were always skittish, but if you sat for long enough and gave them some space, they’d learn to trust that you were safe.  I figure your Grim might be the same way.”

Wong was skeptical, but he also had a scratched hand to clean and an afternoon’s worth of work to conquer.  So he left Davies’ cat to Stephen and his book, and went about his business. Whenever he happened to walk through the foyer, he’d find the scene almost unchanged:  Stephen reading, the Cloak floating quietly in the corner, and the cat nowhere in sight.

When Wong went to find Stephen for dinner, he was still leaning against the wall.  A good many more pages of the book had been turned, and the Cloak was now resting around his shoulders.  The cat was still out of sight, although Wong was surprised to see that at least some of the kibble had been eaten.

“Stephen.  Dinner is ready.  Are you coming?”

Stephen glanced up from his reading.  “Sorry, Wong. Not tonight. If he’s still not out in another hour or two, I’ll give it up for today.  But I think he’s feeling a bit better about things.”

Wong sighed.  But the other man was an adult, and if he wanted to sit on a cold floor for hours trying to make a cat happy, then that was his prerogative.  He left a plate of food in the fridge, and headed towards upstairs and bed.

As irritated as he’d been with Davies earlier, he stopped in the shadows of the corridor to snap a quick photograph with his phone.  He sent it to Davies, along with a brief note that Grim seemed to be settling in well. Then he quietly snuck up the stairs. Behind him, the large grey cat curled contentedly on the Cloak’s red fabric, Stephen’s gently trembling hand brushing over its soft fur.

\--

In Wong’s unfortunately not limited experience, it was never a good thing to wake up without remembering how one got to where one was now.  Which seemed to be his own bed in the Sanctum, so at least that was a step up from the times when he woke up at a demonic summoning or in the dimension where smiling was an invitation for uh...intimate relations.

That seemed to be about the only good thing about today, as everything hurt (a lot).  Except the index finger of his left hand; that was curiously warm.

Looking down at his hand, Wong discovered that said finger was wrapped in a yellow sleeve of light.  That explained the warmth. A faint tendril of light extended from his hand to the loosely curled fist laying on the quilt next to it.

Stephen was asleep, head pillowed on his arms as they rested on the edge of Wong’s bed.  The Cloak was draped over his shoulders like an over-large blanket. His hair was mussed, and silver and black strands had fallen down over his eyes.

The liquid sunshine encircling Wong’s finger began to pulse, and emit a faint beeping sound.  Wong looked back at it curiously. With a soft groan, Stephen blearily raised his head off his arms, then snapped to alertness with surprising alacrity when he realized that Wong was awake.

“Oh good.  Alright, let’s see if you’re really with us this time.  I doubt you’ll get the day right, but do you know what month it is?”

Wong was tolerant, right up until Strange conjured a bright light and shone it directly into his eyes.

“Strange, if you don’t move that, I will *demonstrate* exactly how fine I am.”

Stephen huffed, the light vanishing.  “No need to get upset. You took a pretty good hit.  This is the first time you’ve properly woken up since yesterday afternoon.  And for your information, it’s about, oh, 3 AM right now.”

“I’ve had worse.”  Stephen looked unimpressed.

“That is not reassuring.  If anything it increases the risk of CTE…”

“Stephen.  Peace. I am fine, although thank you.  I am assuming we won?”

“Hmm.”  Stephen looked as if he wasn’t certain whether Wong was deliberately trying to change the subject, but his tiredness seemed to overcome his suspicion.  With a resigned shake of his head, he said, “Yes. Well, if by we you mean the other masters and myself. You were out cold, after that that tentacle creature tossed you into the lampost.”

Ah, so that’s what he’d hit.  No wonder everything hurt.

“Anyways, the creatures have been returned, or...neutralized.”  Stephen grimaced, and a shadow that had nothing to do with a night of dozing in a chair clouded his eyes.

Wong still didn’t feel like he was firing on all cylinders, but he pushed himself up slightly against the pillow.  Stephen was staring at the quilt, and Wong stared at him in turn, waiting for the other man to look up.

When Stephen did, Wong’s heart clenched a little at the regret written across his face.  Stephen gave him a small, sad smile.

“You know, when I was in medical school, they taught us about how public health is part of a doctor’s responsibility.  I never paid that much attention; surgeons don’t deal much with infectious disease outbreaks. Mordo,” and here Wong’s breath caught a little.  Mordo had been Stephen’s teacher for a year, but Wong’s colleague for many more.

“Mordo told me that we are soldiers, fighting an invisible war to protect our world and our dimension.  Well, I still can’t think of myself as a soldier. But I can recognize there are decisions that must be made for the greater good, and it’s our responsibility to make them.  To live with them, too, afterwards.” Stephen snorted derisively. “I guess he’d be proud of me, now.”

Wong wished then that he had the words to say that Mordo probably would not have understood the distinction.  Karl was not a particularly philosophical man, although he had once been a good one. But Wong thought another of Stephen’s teachers might be very proud.  And *she* would have understood.

“So what do you think of my new monitoring device?”  Now who was changing the subject? “I found this handy little spell in one of Erikson’s texts, and modified it so that it can be used to measure vitals.  Pretty neat, huh?”

“Very neat.  One of these days, you are going to modify a spell and turn yourself into a frog.”

“Nuh-uh.  Wait. That could really happen?  That’s just a fairytale thing, right?”  Now Stephen actually looked alarmed. Wong smiled inside; some things were just too easy.

\--

Outside, the February wind whipped through the barren tree branches, and rattled the Sanctum’s window panes.  It was not snowing, but that was just a matter of time. Low grey clouds hung over the city, threatening to snarl evening traffic with their burden of snow.

Wong stepped through the doorway from Kamar-Taj, shivering as the chilled air quickly cut through his robes.  London and New York were never warm in the winter. Master Drumm had continually struggled with frozen pipes, despite the magics maintaining the ancient structure.

The Sanctum was quiet.  Well, it was usually quiet, but today there was a stillness pervading the building, as if the Sanctum itself was hunkered down to wait out the coming storm.  Wong hurried downstairs to the kitchen, his goal a quick cup of tea and a retreat to the library (where hopefully, a fire would keep away the edge of the chill).

Kettle placed on the stove, Wong glanced around the kitchen.  He had been away for a few days, so he and Stephen had missed their usual evening meals.  Glancing in the refrigerator, Wong frowned. The inside was pathetically empty, which meant that he might need to hurry to the corner bodega before the storm hit.  Wong prided himself on being a decent cook, but even sorcerers couldn’t conjure food out of thin air.

Glancing at the dish rack next to the sink, Wong frowned again.  That was empty, too, save for a couple of mugs and tea cups. He sighed.  The kettle whistled, and Wong poured the water into a teapot to steep. Then he headed back out into the Sanctum, suspicion growing in his gut.

He found Stephen in his study.  The other sorcerer was seated in an armchair, head cushioned against its corner, asleep.  The Cloak was laid across his lap, and a corner raised to wave quietly at Wong as he stood in the doorway.

This room was warm.  A fire burned merrily in the hearth, and its light cast flickering shadows across Stephen’s countenance.  Although he was asleep, Wong did not think he looked rested. The dark circles smudged under his eyes contrasted against the gaunt planes of his face.

Stephen’s hands rested in his lap, palms upward and fingers loosely curled.  They were cradled in the Cloak’s folds, gently cushioned against any jostling.

Wong shook his head.  Unfortunately, his suspicions had been correct.  He didn’t tend to think of Stephen’s hands as a problem.  His friend probably appreciated that, but to Wong it was truly unimportant.  

But he had come to realize that cold or rainy weather was an issue.  The wincing and difficulty gripping (especially heavier or smaller objects) was far more pronounced on the day before a storm.  Even worse, Stephen tended to live off of tea, and tea alone, during those times. Wong wasn’t certain whether it was because the pain killed his appetite, or because eating was just too physically challenging.

Quietly, Wong moved into the room, lifting a small table to set it between Stephen’s armchair and the adjacent seat.  He summoned the teapot and a mug, carefully pouring the hot liquid from one receptacle to the other, and making sure not to overfill the cup.  Placing the mug back on the table, he pointed from it to Stephen. The Cloak waved its corner enthusiastically, and Wong nodded.

Wong placed a small warming spell over mug and teapot.  Then, striding purposefully but still quietly, he left the room.  The chill of the corridor hit him like a physical blow, and he recognized with a start how warm the study had been.  Chuckling, he rubbed his hands together, and briskly headed in the direction of the front door. He had a grocery run to do.  And the Sanctum, he now realized, would take good care of its master while he was gone.

\--

Wong was pretty sure that he was going to die, not heroically on the field of battle or pleasantly in his sleep of old age, but of dust inhalation.

“Achoo!  Wong, this is ridiculous!  Who packed these relics? Have the mystic arts never heard of OSHA?  If some sort of weird interdimensional fungus starts growing in our lungs, we should get hazard pay.  Oh wait, that’s right, we don’t get paid for this!”

Wong grit his teeth.  It wasn’t as though *he* was having a good time here, either.  They’d been at this for hours, and had barely made a dent in the crates of ancient books, relics, and assorted odds and ends that might or might not be relics (but it was their job to test each and figure this out).

Stephen backed out from the crate that he had been shoulder-deep in, and turned around.  The Cloak startled and froze, ceramic pot cradled in one corner. Wong started to laugh, and Stephen pouted (yes, Wong was going to say pouted), arms braced against his hips.

“What is so funny?”  Wong pointed, still laughing; maybe there actually was some euphoria-inducing interdimensional fungus in all this dust.

“It’s a good thing the Cloak is over there, I think.”  Stephen’s head and shoulders were absolutely covered in dust and cobwebs.  He reached up a hand, grimaced at the dust and grime that it came back covered with, and then grinned.

“Oh well.  You know, I have an idea.  Hold on. When we cleaned the house as kids, my mom would always...hold on,” here he trailed off, searching on the table amongst the scattered books and dusty objects.  “Ahha!”

In his hand, Stephen held Wong’s phone.  He laboriously poked at it for a moment, and then precariously perched it atop a stack of books.  Waving a hand over the device, he turned to triumphantly grin again at his friend. Wong raised an eyebrow as the Bee Gees began to sing about “Stayin’ Alive,” the upbeat and magically amplified tune filling the crowded space.

“Whistle while you work, right, Wong?”  Wong stared at him nonplussed.

Stephen laughed, a real honest-to-God laugh that made Wong feel a pleasant warmth in his chest.  The Cloak spun in a circle and waved its pot in the air. And if Wong saw Stephen’s smirk when he caught his fellow sorcerer mouthing the words to “I Will Survive,” well, he didn’t have to acknowledge it.

“Hey, Wong, is that iron spear thingy supposed to be glowing like that?”

“Take cover!”

\--

This was not going well, thought Wong.  Most interdimensional invasions were, to be quite honest, accidents.  The equivalent of stupid kids playing with a ouija board, or someone’s cows getting out of their pasture and trampling the neighbor’s garden.

But every now and then, some mystical Attila the Hun or Alexander the Great knocked on their door, plan in place and army at their back.  Today was one of those days. The world, outside of this tiny beachhead, carried on unaware of the imminent threat. But if they weren’t able to contain these invaders here, that would change.

What masters they could recall at short notice were arrayed across the field around him.  It was a respectable number. But not, it seemed, enough. This minor demon had a literal army, and the sorcerers were to a person exhausted and bloodied.  Some were already down. He’d lost track of Stephen, although he’d seen him earlier vanishing handfuls of combatants, eyes dark and mouth set in a thin line.

Wong slammed a glowing mandala against an enemy footsoldier, and then looked up as a susurrus moved through the ranks of the steadily advancing horde.  His heart sank as he took in the seemingly endless ranks. He never thought he would see the day when the world found out about the multiverse, only because that would mean that the masters of the mystic arts had fallen.

The demon was impressive, Wong would give him that.  Very large and very...ugly. Stereotypical.

“Puny humans.  Cease your fighting, and I will grant you the mercy of a quick death, before I move on to enslave the rest of your pathetic planet.”  Oh great, even the threatening speech was stereotypical. If Wong wasn’t so bone-tired and genuinely heartsick that this might be the end (and wasn’t that depressing, after everything they had managed to survive so far), he might have laughed.

The demon raised its massive, clawed hands, and the sunlight *flickered.*  Wong’s sight began to dim, and he gasped as the air seemed to grow thinner.  Around him, he saw others falter, as the demon army calmly watched their overlord subdue the sorcerers’ defenses.

“Hey, you!  Yes, you, demonic entity of the week.  Leave my friends alone!”

Wong wasn’t able to utter even a gasp against the burn in his lungs, but he thought, “Stephen.  Oh, you idiot, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

The demon stared, amused in the way that a cat might be amused by a mouse, at the sorcerer and his Cloak levitating before him.

“And why should I, human?  They are weak, as are you. Your world is fit only for service to the more powerful.”

“Yeah, so I have to tell you, we’ve heard that line before.  Quite a lot actually. And the thing is, we may not be as large or as smart or as powerful as some.  But you’ll find we can be quite stubborn, and rather clever. Especially when it comes to protecting our friends, and our world.  So don’t underestimate us. I’d tell you to pass that along, but you won’t be able to, where you’re going.”

And then Stephen opened his cupped hands, and a small bird(?) made of what seemed to be blue flame shot out of them.  It perched on the demon’s shoulder, and for a second the demon locked eyes with it.

Then the bird opened its wings, and there was an almighty crack.  And the demon was gone as if he had never been, the rift leading back to the majority of his army slamming closed.  

The masters of the mystic arts were not fools, and around Wong they began to make short work of the remaining interlopers.  Wong ignored them, and forced his exhausted legs into a run.

Stephen was down on one knee, head bowed and forearm braced against the other, on the scorched earth at the center of the field.  The Cloak was fluttering; Wong thought that if it had hands, it might have been ringing them. One of Stephen’s hands pet the red fabric gently, soothing despite the tremors that shook it more than usual.

“Hey, Wong.”

“Stephen.”

“Pretty neat, huh?  Wasn’t sure if that was going to work.  Modified transportation spell. But it did, so we’re good.  Don’t think he’ll be able to find a way back any time soon.”

Wong nodded.  “Pretty neat. Also, you did not turn into a frog.  Yet.”

Stephen gave a tired laugh, and staggered to his feet.  “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

\--

Wong was in a particularly good mood today.  He had finished preparing the curriculum for the course he would be teaching this summer at Kamar-Taj.  His meeting with the other masters had been brief and remarkably productive. And it was a beautiful late spring evening in the city, with the fading lights of the sunset just vanishing into the darker blue of the night sky.

Opening the Sanctum’s front door, he found the Cloak poking into the cabinet at the side of the foyer.  It perked up at his entrance, and darted towards the hallway, pausing to see if he was following. Seeing that he was, it sped off into the kitchen ahead of him.  He heard Stephen greet it before he had reached the kitchen door.

“Hello, you.  Is Wong home? Can you put this on the table?”

Stopping in the doorway, Wong was greeted with the sight of his friend carefully levitating a dish of rice and vegetables to the table.  The Cloak was “helping” by trying to place utensils at each seat, but mostly it was managing to get in the way and knock things over. Stephen’s magic caught an overturning cup, their dinner still floating in the air next to him.

“Okay, okay, maybe not.  Thanks, I think I’ve got it.  Oh, hello, Wong.”

“Hello, Stephen.”  Wong made his way around the Cloak to the freezer, hissing slightly as his fingers burned against the ice-cold containers he had purchased at the corner store.

His friend smirked at Wong’s choices for the week.  “Really, Avengers’ themed Ben-and-Jerry’s? I didn’t take you for a fan.”  Wong squinted, unamused.

“Do you wish to partake of this ice cream, Stephen?”

“Yes?”

“Then I suggest you keep your criticism to yourself.  And tell your Cloak not to add that much seasoning to the dinner.”

As Wong watched his friend futilely try to reclaim the seasoning from his relic, he decided that he had ended up with a rather good housemate (well, maybe two housemates) after all.

Finis.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I meant to wait until Saturday, but suffer from a distinct lack of impulse control. Didn't mean to spend my day off rambling either, but these two dorks are just too cute.


End file.
